


Just Drop Your Pants and Measure Them Already

by Grimmalie



Category: Inception
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-17
Updated: 2011-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-27 10:56:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimmalie/pseuds/Grimmalie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ariadne grows weary of Eames and Arthur's incessant bickering and tells them to do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Drop Your Pants and Measure Them Already

**Author's Note:**

> My response to a challenge put to me by a friend to write a fic based on this title.

When Arthur and Eames both took gunshot wounds to the leg at the same time, Ariadne could smell the trouble on the horizon.  Of course, she tried not to think about it too much.  It was far more tempting to simply enjoy seeing both of them high off their tits from Yusuf’s particularly potent painkillers. 

 

Arthur, ever the man with a plan, hyper-organized and dapper as hell, babbled about wanting ice cream and more than once called Ariadne ‘Mommy’.  She bit her lip and mentally filed that away for future torture.

 

                Eames was not much different.  He grew easily disoriented, and felt the need to repeat his every unfocused thought aloud at least three times before trusting that Ariadne or Yusuf had heard him.

 

                It probably should have surprised Ariadne that these two- among the very best and most professional in the dreamshare business- were reduced to overgrown children under the influence of questionable painkillers.  It should have.  But after a year of working with both of them fairly regularly, she wouldn’t have expected anything less.  It just meant she would have to put on her big girl pants and take charge of operations for a while.  At least until they were both back in their feet.

 

                Of course, when they started having drug-addled conversations and sluggish thumb wars, she couldn’t resist pulling out her video phone.  After all, she liked to consider both Arthur and Eames friends by now, and what sort of friend would she be if she didn’t record the sight of Arthur and Eames growing steadily redfaced as they sluggishly played elementary school games.

 

o-o-o

 

A few days later, Yusuf started weaning them off the painkillers.  They were still high, but lucid enough to remember who and where they were.  This should have resulted in an improvement.  Had it just been Arthur who’d been shot, it would have been fine.  Had it just been Eames who’d been shot, it would have been fine.

 

                Just her luck that they had both been shot, then.

 

                “No, you cheated,” Arthur slurred irritably. “You used your other hand.”

 

                “Did not.  How could I use my other hand?”

 

                Yusuf groaned and rolled his eyes.

 

                “I’m ready to shoot them again,” Yusuf complained.

 

                “You’d only end up having to listen to them recover longer,” Ariadne pointed out.  Yusuf snorted.

 

                “Didn’t say I was going to shoot them anywhere they could recover.”    




 

                “They’re two of the best professionals in the business.”

 

                “Not when they’re together, they aren’t,” he argued.

 

                Ariadne sighed as Yusuf retreated back to the main room of the dream den to tend to waking customers.  He was right, of course.  Eames was the only person who rubbed Arthur in just the wrong way to crack his professional façade.  And when Arthur cracked, Eames grew insufferable.  Maybe God was punishing her for using her architecture degree for crime.

 

o-o-o

 

Ariadne was accustomed to the competition between her point man and forger.  Arthur brought in a fascinating and particularly difficult tidbit of information, Eames had to do the same for the mark’s significant other.  Eames ‘accidentally’ kicked Arthur out of a practice-dream early, Arthur ‘accidentally’ neglected to hook up Eames’s line in to the PASIV device the next time around.  That level of childish showing off was just their way of blowing off steam while on the job.  At least they weren’t going around buying flamboyant cars or picking up ridiculous women.  Had they been that petty, Ariadne would have had no problem leaving them behind to find a new, more mature team.

 

                After getting shot, Arthur and Eames had a great deal of bonding time together.  In the back of her mind, Ariadne hoped this would improve their relationship.  Arthur would learn to stop underestimating Eames and, if necessary, alter his behavior enough to show the man that he genuinely respected him.  Eames, in turn, would learn to stop seeing Arthur as an arrogant automaton and realize that there was a genuinely creative, functional human being with whom he loved to screw.

 

                After so long working in dreams, Ariadne should have learned to recognize a hopeless one.

 

                Arthur and Eames began to hobble about Yusuf’s dream den.  For the most part, Yusuf shooed them off to the

corner and warned them to stay out of trouble and not to disturb his customers.  He had Arthur alphabetizing various somnacin formulas while Eames… well, whatever he told Eames to do, Eames clearly thought it less important than harassing his colleague.

 

                There was a clatter and a yell.  Ariadne jumped to her feet and darted to the corner.  Arthur lay on the floor, his face pale and sweaty.  One trouser leg was already starting to darken with blood where his stitches had broken.  Her instinct was to try to help him up, but he was too concerned with beating Eames with his crutch to notice her attempt to assist.

 

o-o-o

 

“Of course, Mr. Staite, discretion is obviously at the very heart of our operations.”

 

“Thank you for your astounding input, Arthur, I’m sure you researched that for days.”

 

“Hey, far be it from me to tell you to stop taking painkillers before you deprive the business of one of its best con artists.”

Ariadne clenched the phone tighter.

 

“No sir, I’m afraid you’ll have to come to us.  As I said, discretion.  And this is the best way to go about it.”

 

“You’re doing it wrong.”

 

“I’ve lived in Mombasa far longer than you and, while I may not know how to make my suits look so bloody dapper, I know perfectly well how to mix medicine.”

 

“Great.  Since you’re such an expert, it’s a wonder why we need to hire a chemist at all!”

 

“Sorry?”

 

Ariadne clenched her teeth as the client repeated his question.

 

“I assure you, sir, this is the best team on the planet.”

 

o-o-o

 

Ariadne was at the end of her wits.  For the last hour, Arthur and Eames had been bickering about –of all the things- whose gunshot wound was larger.

 

                Eames had the fair point that the bullet had penetrated deeper into his leg.  Arthur, on the other hand, had vertical wounds stretching from thigh to mid-calf.

 

                Ariadne rubbed her temples.  Yusuf had taken off an hour ago for food, and knowing how desperate he was to get a little fresh air, it would be at least another half an hour before he returned.

 

                “You kidding me?  It’s a scrape, Arthur, I thought you were an adult.”

 

                “It’s more tissue to heal overall,” Arthur argued, hobbling after Eames.  Ariadne groaned.  Arthur had been actively fighting Eames for the last two days.  You know it got bad when Arthur ceased to effectively control his emotions.

 

                “It’s just a big scrape, that’s all.”

 

                “It’s easier to aggravate, not like your little puncture wound.”

 

                “Oh, just drop your pants and measure them already!” Ariadne snapped.

 

                Both Eames and Arthur stopped and stared at her.  To be fair, even Ariadne was surprised by her outburst.  She’d held it together so well for so long.  Still, enough was enough.

 

                Rolling her eyes, she pushed herself off her cot, snatched her architecture book, and retreated to the roof to try and escape the burdens of her team.  The warm Mombasa air covered her like a warm blanket, the stars twinkling dimly.  Ariadne blinked, struggling to discern one line of text from another.  It wasn’t long, however, until her book slipped from her hand and she settled into an easy doze.

 

                Dreams tickled the edge of her memory, hazy and weak.  She hadn’t yet lost the ability to dream without somnacin, but she was well on her way.  It would probably only be two or three jobs until she lost that God-given gift forever.

 

                A startled cry jolted her suddenly from her slumber.  She tensed, reaching for the gun she had long since started tucking into the back of her pants, only to realize frantically that it was gone.  She sucked in a breath, listening closely.  There was no sound of struggle, no gunshot.  With a sigh, she closed her eyes.  More likely than not, Eames had just pranked Arthur again.

 

                The door to the roof creaked open.  Ariadne turned to see Yusuf approaching her slowly, carrying a bowl of food.  His usually clever, knowing expression had been replaced with one of shock.

 

                “Do you know,” he demanded, setting down her food. “What those idiots were doing?  They were standing half-naked in my store room, with measuring tape!”

 

                Ariadne chuckled.

 

                “They were comparing their gunshot wounds,” she explained. “I told them to shut up and just measure them.”

 

                “Well that’s not all they were measuring!”

 

                Oh.  Ariadne blinked.  Then, because there seemed no better way to respond to the situation, she grinned.  Then she laughed.  Yusuf shook his head, a reluctant grin splitting his face.

 

                “It was bound to happen sooner or later,” she chuckled. “Who do you think the winner will be?”

 

                “Whichever one I don’t kill by the end of the week,” Yusuf snorted. “I mean it, if they try any funny stuff around my mixtures.”

 

                “Look at it this way,” Ariadne pointed out. “Maybe this way they’ll argue a little less.”

 

                Yusuf looked doubtful, but chose wisely not to step on Ariadne’s determined optimism.  Either way, neither Ariadne nor Yusuf heard a peep from Arthur or Eames for the rest of the night.

 


End file.
